The Brief History of an Amnesiac
by The Armadillo and the Elephant
Summary: An accident robbed Alice of her memories, now she has to figure out what happened - with the help of the new girl in town and a Corvette driving outsider. But sometimes secrets should stay just that. AH.


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**Chapter One**

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I cut my hair this morning.

Every muddy lock that fell to the floor liberated me, transformed me, created me anew. I let the freedom rush through my veins as it sparked and swirled around me. I opened my eyes.

I didn't like what I saw.

Hastily I chucked the bathroom scissors into a drawer and hurriedly covered them with clothes. I shut the drawer tight, my eyes darting around the room, focusing on the door and then flitting away again when I realised no one was there.

I wondered what they would say. I wondered if they would like it.

Probably not.

Cleaning up the hair was a problem because there was no way I'd be able to drag the vacuum up the stairs without Esme knowing, and the dustpan and brush were on a shelf too high for me to reach. I settled for using a tissue. Getting down on my hands and knees, I combed the ivory carpet with my hand until it was no longer marked with brown scars. I gathered them all up and carried the bundle into the bathroom, feeling like a Wise Man bearing gold, frankincense and myrrh.

Quickly, I flushed my hair away. I'd cut so much off that I needed to flush twice.

As I left the bathroom the neon blue numbers of the clock beside the bed told me I had hours to go before I could venture out of the safety of the bedroom. After all, it wouldn't be fair if Esme found out before her husband. No, it wouldn't be right at all.

I resolved to pass the time in a constructive manner. Ignoring the stack of well-leafed magazines that I'd read many times before, I stood on my tiptoes to reach the wooden shelf someone had nailed into the wall to hold the meagre amount of books that lay there, inert. My fingers stretched and strained to grasp one of them and, after several attempts, they locked around one in particular. Slowly, careful not to lose my balance, I drew it down towards me.

It looked like it should have been dusty but, like the rest of the house and the possessions within it, it was immaculate. Yet the crinkled cover and yellowing pages made me feel that it had had a hard life, one that had somehow ended in the room of a nondescript middle-class girl in a middle-class glass house in a remote town in the far reaches of the US of A.

I curled up on my bed and began to read.

It was strange - a complete contrast to the fashion magazines on the desk, but I liked it. It was kind of off-beat, random, travelled. Someone had written in the margins in a broad scrawl that I didn't recognise, the words all making grammatical sense but keeping me in the dark at the same time.

I kept trying to figure them out, my eyes trying to pierce holes into them and unlock their meaning as I skimmed the prose. Occasionally the writing was too bad for me to decipher, but I spent a long time attempting to make it out before giving up. It annoyed me. I carried on like this until almost a quarter of the book had been subjected to my investigation, the sentences becoming more and more obscure. Frustrated, I flung the book to the floor where, despite the soft carpet, it landed with a loud thump. I looked down: some of the pages had come free and were lying in a scattered mess on the floor. It was a shame.

"Alice?" A caramel voice melted into my ears, burning them. "Alice, honey, what's the matter? I heard a-" A harsh breath halted her words. I glanced up, my legs just managing to dangle over the opposite end of the bed, and saw her face, a study in distress. "What have you done? What have you done to your lovely hair?" Esme stood at the door, her hands gathered in front of her mouth as if they were the only barrier to words I knew wanted to spurt out.

"I cut it."

"But...why?"

I shrugged because I didn't have a real reason, I hadn't planned it, I hadn't gotten up this morning and decided to hack it off. "Just."

Esme entered the room, crossing the threshold she'd been hovering over, "But, I don't understand. You've had your hair like that since you were five. It was a struggle just to get you into the hairdressers," her words trailed off, and I began to feel bad, "You said it made you feel like a princess."

I shrugged again, ignorant as to what I could possibly say in response. Instead, I leaned over the edge of the bed and grabbed the broken book. Esme's eyes flitted over to it, then fluttered back to me again. "I'm not a princess anymore."

She rushed over to me, enveloping me in an embrace intended to be maternal but which ended up being awkward. "You're our princess, you always will be." She grasped me tighter, drawing me closer to her and my head swam as I breathed in the perfume Edward had bought her for her birthday. "Alice...you do realise that your father and I – and your brother – love you very much, don't you? That will never stop." A feather-like kiss floated down onto the top of my head. "I know it's hard but that's what we're here for...to make it easier for you so that everything else falls into place." I didn't speak: I didn't want to stir up things that should be left dormant, and I didn't want to hurt her unnecessarily because even though I didn't remember her and even though things still didn't feel right, she was still the closest thing I had to a mother. I just had to reconcile myself to that fact. She pushed me back gently, taking a look at my hair in the bright light that shone through the windows, "Whatever have you done?" She mused. Her hand reached out and caressed the tips of my hair as if trying to repair the damage the cold steel had done. "I'll call Giorgio, he'll get you all fixed up again. Sort out the mess you've made." She left the room and I heard her making an appointment on the phone. Sitting on the end of the bed, I stared at the book in my hands and I sighed.

The house, although large and open-plan, made me claustrophobic. The large windows that gazed into the forest didn't make me think that I was alone in the middle of a peaceful wilderness, but made me feel like I was the beast, trapped in a glass cage and free to be stared at by the denizens of the woods and the town; the pale colours and sharp whites inside did not calm but rile me; and the voices that floated up to my ears when the house was occupied had convinced me I was under constant surveillance.

That's how I knew that just after she phoned her hairdresser, Esme made a call to the hospital. I could hear her urgent voice darting down the line to Carlisle's careful ears, hastily filling him in, begging him to seek more advice and despairing over the fear that I might just be a lost cause. I snorted: they had yet to acknowledge what I had accepted a long time ago, that whoever Alice Cullen had been before, she didn't exist now. Not really. A few moments later, I heard her hang up and begin her ascent upstairs. Nervously, I flicked a piece of my hair behind my ear but it bobbled right back. Glancing up, I saw Esme standing in the doorway, her face a study in quiet concern.

"Honey, are you ready to go? Giorgio managed to squeeze you in."

I wondered how much money she'd offered him.

I'd been to the salon he owned before when, in a desperate attempt to make me feel normal, Esme had taken me out to "pamper" me. It turns out that I don't like being pampered. It turns out that the old Alice did.

The salon, which was not in Forks but half an hour away in Port Angeles, was a tribute to the glossy magazines that had been hoarded in my bedroom, from the bright purple and glittering silver of the walls to the sleek assistants and the tailored clothes they wore.

"Ah! Signora Cullen, signorina Alice! Buongiorno!" Giorgio called out from behind the counter. I had to give it to him, he was flamboyant. And also, according to Edward, not Italian as he presented himself but from somewhere south of Iowa. Whatever his nationality, I presumed that crimes to hair were universal because the moment he properly saw me, missing the silky curls he'd put in before, a shocked gasp exploded from his lips and he raised his hands to his mouth, glancing at Esme in what appeared to be sympathy. I think I may have made him speechless. I presumed that was an achievement and took some twisted pride in it.

"Giorgio, perhaps there's something you can do about...this," she gestured frantically around my head.

"It's awful!" He shrieked. I didn't think it was that bad.. He grabbed the arm of a passing assistant and hissed instructions at her, never taking his eyes off me, and after several minutes led me to a vacant chair.

I didn't pay attention to what they were doing to my hair because I really didn't care: anything that changed would be good because it was a change, because it wouldn't be the Alice I could see reflected in everyone's eyes. They rubbed and soothed and chopped and styled my hair until I could finally escape the chair. I took a quick look into the mirror, illuminated by glitzy lights, and admitted that they'd done a good job. It had made Esme happy anyway – she didn't say it but her corners of her mouth twitched upwards when she smiled, a sign, I'd come to recognize, of contentment.

I carried on not paying much attention on the way back to the house until I realised that the road was not becoming overshadowed by the trees that usually lined it but was instead surrounded by bushes overflowing with multicolour blooms.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

Esme gave me a fleeting look out of the corner of her eye, keeping most of her attention on the traffic in front of her. The corners of her mouth were twitched downwards – it wasn't good. "We're...well, your father and I talked this over and we believe that maybe..." she trailed off, running her hand over her forehead, "Maybe we've rushed you through this, maybe you're not as ready as we thought you were." She looked at me for slightly longer this time. "We've decided that after this particular incident you should...talk to a professional." The last few words rushed out from her like the stream that ran out the back of the house.

Oh.

"You're taking me to the psychiatrist, aren't you?" She nodded bleakly, confirming what I should have expected when the scenery first began to change.

"I'm sorry but it's the only way. You might find it easier to talk to someone who isn't as personally involved as the rest of us are."

I doubted it. It hadn't worked before. "Ok."

"Are you fine with this?"

"Sure." I thought about something for a minute, "When did you make the appointment?"

"When they were fixing up your hair."

I nodded again.

When I'd first been released from the hospital, my physical wounds having healed but my psychological ones still firmly in place, my consultant had recommended the services of a local psychiatrist. Five appointments later, I'd been no closer to find out who I'd been than when I'd been in the hospital bed, so I'd suggested to Carlisle and Esme that the sessions were doing more harm than good. They'd stopped sending me there immediately. I felt bad about their unrelenting trust in me, believing me to be regressing when instead I was just too isolated, too scared to discover who I'd been before. But no amount of therapy could return my memories to me: you couldn't just flick a switch. A marathon and not a sprint, that's what the doctors told me, that's what Esme and Carlisle told me, that's what Edward told me. Well, if it was alright with them I was more than happy to wait behind the start line.

My psychiatrist was a lovely woman, very intelligent – I couldn't fault her there, and she never probed me for information or pestered me with questions about how I felt. In fact, we'd spent most of the sessions chatting about inconsequential things: films, TV shows, songs that Edward had yet to introduce me to. Yet that had been another sign of how different I was to everybody else because sometimes, when she forgot momentarily who I was – or, more accurately, who I was not, she would refer to things that I just couldn't remember. Plot lines, bad soap actors, what celebrity had done this, what celebrity had done that. And I would sit there and nod politely, not acknowledging the growing chasm in my chest, until Kate realised that I was responding. I had always hated that look of pity on her face afterwards.

As we waited outside in the car I'd learnt Carlisle had bought for her birthday a couple of years ago, Esme asked me if I wanted her to go in with me. I told her no, I'd be fine. She smiled weakly, "Ok then. I'll go to the bakery and get some things for your brother. Do you want anything?" The confusion I felt must have shown on my face because she explained, "You do remember that Edward's bringing his girlfriend back this weekend?" I searched through my brain, wandering through misty pathways in an attempt to recall this information.

"Yeah. I think I do."

She gave me an encouraging smile, the same smile she gave me when the words 'remember' and 'I do' were in the same sentence. "That's great! So, how about it? Do you want something gooey and chocolatey? It's a Friday, I think we're entitled."

"No. No thank you."

Her expression altered into motherly concern, "Watching your weight?"

I shook my head, "Just not hungry."

"Alright."

We sat in uncompanionable silence for a few minutes until the polished voice of the newsreader filtered through the speakers of the car radio, "I should go. Don't want to be late."

"Ok." I struggled out of the car and was just about to shut the door when she called out to me, "Are you absolutely positive you don't want me to come in with you?"

"Yep. Last time I saw Kate she told me that I needed to be more assertive, more independent." She hadn't. She'd actually told me to allow myself to rely more on my friends and family but I wasn't going to tell Esme that. She waved me goodbye and I watched until her car disappeared out of sight, a hint of silver among the greenery. For a while I contemplated not going in but turning around, picking a direction at random and walking that way until my feet were too sore to continue. But there was no point: they'd find out eventually and I'd be locked in my room "for my own good", and they'd feel bad and try to incorporate me into the family again until the next setback. No, things were much simpler if I just went along with what they wanted.

I didn't relish going into the packed reception though, and the look that the receptionist gave me when I entered didn't help much. I read her name tag: Jessica. I studied her face: it was in some of the photos pinned up in my room. Maybe she'd been my friend. I gave her a hesitant smile but she just kept looking at me goggle-eyed until I coughed lightly.

"Hi, I'm Alice Cullen. I'm here to see Dr Garrett."

This seemed to knock her out of her stupor, "I know who you are. You sat at my lunch table in high school."

Oh.

"Sorry," I don't know why I was apologising for something I couldn't have been expected to remember, but it might have had something to do with her accusing tone.

"Well, that can't be helped, can it?" She typed something into the computer that sat on her desk before glancing back up at me with a sickly sweet smile on her face. "If you'd just take a seat in the waiting area, your psychiatrist," she spat out the word victoriously, "Will be right with you."

"Thanks," I took the piece of card she handed me and turned around, searching for somewhere to sit that wouldn't present more problems. I finally decided on a chair in the corner of the room, beside a brown-haired girl who looked around my age and who was examining her fingernails. I took a deep breath and walked over.

She didn't look up when I sat down and I was grateful for that. I had fully intended to ignore her but after a few not so surreptitious glances from Jessica I felt bad enough to speak. "Hi, I'm Alice." I was shocked that my voice had remained so calm when my insides were churning.

The girl peeked up through the curtain of her hair and gave me a quick nod, "Bella."

"Pleased to meet you, Bella." If nothing else, Esme and Carlisle had succeeded in teaching me how to be polite. "Could you pass me that magazine please?" She did, leaning forward slightly to reach the table. "Thank you. So, what are you here for?"

She jerked up and I worried that maybe my social skills weren't as good as I thought they were. I began to apologize but she cut me off in mid flow. "My mom sent me here to 'achieve a sense of inner peace' about her new marriage."

"Oh."

"She's kind of a hippy."

"Oh." I wondered what Carlisle and Esme would be like if they were hippies. Then I shook my head, unable to imagine them living without the luxuries they had grown accustomed to.

"Plus," Bella said, letting a faint grin flutter across her face, "I decided to live here with my dad for the summer and save up for college. I've lived in Phoenix for most of my life – my mom thinks I'm crazy." Phoenix – that was new.

"What was that like? Phoenix?"

"Warm. You know, I've been here for weeks and I still haven't gotten used to the cold. Or the rain."

"So is it sunny all the time where you lived before?" I was genuinely curious about this new girl who knew absolutely nothing about me.

"Pretty much."

"Must be a big change then," I paused, "I think it'd be nice to live somewhere that's always summery."

"Have you been to Arizona?

I shook my head, "I'm not sure but I don't think so." She looked confused but I could tell she wasn't going to say anything, so I decided to help her out a bit. "I've been having a little memory trouble lately. Turns out cars and wet nights do not go well together."

"Oh," she blushed, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried." I could sense her imminent withdrawal and, to my surprise, I realised that I didn't want her to stop talking to me. So I took a deep breath, opened my mouth and babbled.

"No problem. I think everyone else in this room probably knows what happened to me so it's no biggie. Anyway, my," I struggled to say the alien word, "parents think therapy's the best option so I'm here." She looked put-out, uncomfortable, and I mentally kicked myself. Too much information. I was about to apologise yet again when someone called out my name. "I have to go now but it was nice to meet you," I offered with a smile. I extended my hand which she gazed at before shaking it.

"It was nice to meet you too."

Kate had told me to call her Kate at our very first session. She said it was to keep it informal. I guessed it was to reduce the chances of me being dragged out of her office in a straight jacket.

Her room was designed to be calm – from the comforting pinks and creams of the fabrics to the easy listening music station she still had on in the background. Nevertheless, this place had caused me much more anxiety than either the treatment room in the hospital or the edgy concern of Esme and Carlisle ever had. This room tried to force me to 'confront my demons'. To tell you the truth, I didn't give two figs about 'my demons': I didn't really think I had that many to begin with. After all, it wasn't like my predicament was of my own making or that I'd had some sort of mental break-down that had led me to sit on the cushion packed sofa. All I'd done was be in the wrong place at the wrong time: no harm, no foul.

"Alice, do you want a drink? I have tea, coffee, orange juice, some strange concoction Jessica brought in today," Kate remarked, holding a green bottle up to the light and trying to examine the liquid inside. "On the other hand, possibly not," she scrunched up her nose.

"Just a glass of water, if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind," she breezed, gifting me with a lofty smile. I could just see her making a mental note and highlighting it in her head: 'Subject is overly polite. Possible inferiority complex. Investigate further.' She handed me a tall glass, filled up halfway.

"Is this some sort of test? Half full or half empty?"

Kate laughed, "No! Of course not!" She took a seat on a large armchair opposite me, drawing her knees up and folding her legs under her, "Now, how come your mom sent you here then? I haven't heard from you for weeks." I felt the weight of her accusation.

"She didn't tell you?"

"Oh she did, but I want to hear it from you."

I sighed, "I cut my hair."

"Is that it?"

"Yes. Esme didn't like it."

"Was it planned?"

"No."

"Why did you do it?"

I shrugged, "Don't know."

"I think you do." I shrugged again, unwilling to comment further. She noted something, probably my silence, on the paper she had in front of her, "Alice, I can't help you if you don't help yourself." I just stared at her. She tried again, "Are you happy?"

"It's all relative."

"What do you mean?"

Not a chance: I'd told her more than I'd intended to. "Are we done?"

She glanced at her watch, "We've only been talking for five minutes."

"I've got nothing more to talk about."

"Alice," she warned.

"Can I go?"

"Your mom won't be happy about this."

"She'll be fine." She wouldn't, but I wasn't going to tell her the complete truth. Kate sighed yet again.

"Alice, I know that you're finding it hard to talk to me and you're probably finding the same thing with your family as well. There's a chance that you might be able to...relate...to a person who's in a similar situation, that's why I wanted to invite you to a picnic the practice is running for all our...friends." Patients. "So you can mingle, maybe make some friends for yourself." She must have seen the disdain on my face because she paused before continuing. "Look – just take this leaflet. If you want to come, you can come. If you don't...well, I won't say anything." She handed me a yellow flyer. Cheery.

I took it, folded it and put it into my coat pocket. "Ok. Thanks."

"No problem." There was that faux-reassuring smile again. Great. "I'll see you next week." It wasn't a question this time, it was an order.

"Sure." Then, deciding I'd been too sullen, I added, "Have a nice day." I walked out of her office without looking back and passed through the waiting room as quick as I could, only slowing down to check if Bella was still there. She wasn't and so I hurtled for the exit.

The moment I shut the door and stepped into the wintry summer weather, I breathed in the chilly air, closed my eyes and sat on the step, wincing slightly when I realised that the concrete was slightly damp. I stayed there, motionless and blind, until the smooth purr of an engine slinked through my darkness. I opened my eyes, momentarily dazzled by the silver sky and watery sun. It was Esme.

I rushed to the car, my bottom cold from the wait.

"How was it darling?" Esme asked, hesitantly.

"Helpful. I made another appointment for next week," I lied. She tried to mask her smile but it wasn't fooling me. No matter how quickly they'd let me drop the sessions, I'd always been aware that both Esme and Carlisle had been uncomfortable, afraid that without proper professional help my condition would deteriorate. "Did you get anything for Edward? From the bakery?" I prompted.

"Lots," she signalled to the large hessian bag in the back seat. "Quite how I'm going to keep temptation at bay until tomorrow, I have no idea." Esme liked it when we talked about inconsequential things like this: it made her forget that I'd forgotten.


End file.
